


Consequences of Timelessness

by Mandy_26



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, FLUFF EVENTUALLY, M/M, Macchachin dies, Soulmates, Time Travel, victor has a secret
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 17:37:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10392237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandy_26/pseuds/Mandy_26
Summary: Victor and Yuuri have been living together in St. Petersburg for the past seven months, but following the death of their dearly loved poodle, misunderstanding abounds. The darkness coats all in it's cold embrace, but with hope, morning will rise to chase away the cold. Watch as Yuuri learns Victor's family's best kept secret. One that comes with great consequence, but even greater understanding."The blue guileless gaze of the child pierced me and my breath left in a stutter. I quickly glanced left, then right, then down at myself. I was still here, and obviously still 24. I flipped my hand over to look at the lines I knew would be there, then pinched myself.Yep. That still hurt.My eyes slipped back up to the child in front of me, bundled and standing alone and silent on the concrete sidewalk, still staring at me, silver hair flapping in the wind."Victor?"The name left my lips before I could stop it. I mean, it look exactly like him, but only a child instead of the 29 year old I knew. There was no way right?The child smiled and waddled closer, his eyes glittering as he grabbed my pant leg.Oh my god. This wasn't happening."





	

**Author's Note:**

> For now this is being fleshed out slowly. I'll try to update once a month. I have the completed outline, but writing this monster has been a headache so far.

The sun outside hovered above the ground, slowly descending, and I sat rigid on the sofa waiting, uncomfortably sticky from the workout I had just left. It might have been better for me to be in the shower now, but for the past several days while I showered Victor slipped in like a shadow and left all the same, avoiding me as if I were a sickness. I bit my lip and listened for his footsteps, but still only the ticking of the clock continued.

Earlier today I texted him, asking him to talk to me. He hadn’t replied, but the text had been read. And that at least gave me hope.

We’d been living together for the past seven months, I knew he would be home soon. He always was home after the moonlight hit the streets. He didn’t like being alone in the dark. So if anytime was good, it was this one. The dark at least would trap us together for the evening.

My foot tapped a short staccato in time with my heart, before my sweating hands cradled my head. I wanted to hide. I wanted to curl up and ignore this whole problem. But that was why we were in our predicament now. My cold fingers threaded through my hair, grounding me to this reality.

It all started with Makkachin’s death.

Poor Makkachin and his sweet old body. He was fine one minute and gone the next, slipping like sand through our hands. He had been dear, so dear. I don’t think I understood how much he meant to Victor until he passed.

I’d entered our home first. I’d found him. He had been curled into his dog bed, peaceful, his face towards the door, waiting, like he always did. He had been such a good boy.  
A familiar burn licked my throat as I remembered squatting by his side, running my hand over his unmoving body, and feeling the cold that had settled in him.

I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. But he hadn’t greeted us when we entered, and he always greeted us.

Victor had busied himself with pulling off his coat and scarf before following me. He hadn’t been far behind, but when he found me on the ground, my eyes glassy with tears. He knew. I watched understanding wash over him, and then I watched him break.

The burning that I had been swallowing back, raged inside me, threatening to take over, to overwhelm me and push me back to the mess of emotions and pain I’d been while mourning another furry friend’s passing, and watching helplessly as Victor self-destructed.

I’d tried. The first few weeks, I‘d tried to support him, tried to comfort, hold, care, and love him through the sadness. But it clung to him, like a leech, flinging him hot then cold. He had cracked into a thousand sharp pieces that when I tried to grab and hold together, did nothing but hurt me.

So much hate.

I would hold him close only for him to shove me away, rage painting him livid one minute, and tearful the next.

We mastered a new tango, a strange touchless tango with no words, only miserable eyes and longing touches that never progressed to more than a caress before he’d pull away.  
I’d thought he would pull through. He asked for space, time to grief. And I understood that need. I understood it so well that I never questions it. I rolled over like a good dog, ready to please its master, because I was desperate. I was so damn desperate for him to love me, for us to be okay. But after weeks, the touches faded. The attempted conversations died. And here we were, this weird touchless dance where every morning he was already gone for the day, ready to practice at the rink, and every evening, he waited until I was tucked away to slip in unnoticed.

Shadows slipped over St. Petersburg and began dancing across windows, over doorframes, around silhouettes of people traveling home through the winter flurries, and I knew he would be home soon. I knew it as sure as my heart beat. I was ready to fight again. I was ready for us to work through this. Tonight, we would talk, we would cry, and hopefully we would reconnect. But first I needed him to just come home.

The tick of the clock echoed like a mechanical heartbeat, steady, quick, and loud, and I found myself shifting, anxious, tired, but primed. Any minute.

A blazing fire lit the sky, like a painter raging with feeling had grabbed his brush and with heart racing, slashed reds and oranges across his blue canvas. Goose bumps rose over my skin. It felt almost prophetic, like watching our love take physical form and paint the sky with its passion.

We would talk. No matter the outcome, we would talk. If he needed me to leave, I would. But I couldn’t handle this silence anymore. I couldn’t handle being stuck in this limbo. I just…I needed to know.

My jaw clenched so hard that my head throbbed with strain as I watched the great painter stain the skies in darkness, the shadows eating the light, sucking up the streets of St. Petersburg and its people, swallowing the sun, swallowing my heart.

Any minute.

The thought echoed in my mind as the tick of the clock filled our tiny, dark, apartment.

He would be here. He wouldn’t leave me alone in this foreign world. He was Victor, my sweet, goofy, lovable victor. He was the man I’d moved across the world for, the one who cried when I told him I loved him, the one who cradled me at night in his arms when he thought I was asleep, the one who came home every single night for the past seven months without fail because he didn’t like being alone.

My fingers pulled at my hair, creating a similar burn in my scalp that beat behind my nose and eyes.

And I relished the pain. Sometimes pain was the only thing that quieted my thoughts. This time, a simple ache of my head was enough to help lessen them to a numb rumble as I watched the moon rise over the city, filling the night with a new colder light.

But as time ticked on and my skin grew colder, my mind grew louder.

What if he didn’t want to try anymore?

My hands fell to my lap and rubbed my thighs anxiously.

What if he didn’t think we were worth it?

I drew a breath, trying to calm myself, and failing. If he had decided it was over, he would still have to come back, this was his house. All his clothes were here. Makkachin’s ashes were here.

And there was still my phone. Maybe he had called and I hadn’t notice.

Wobbling, I stood and slinked to the kitchen where my phone sat.

I’d left my cell in the kitchen so I would stop looking at it every five seconds. It was another one of my nervous ticks, so to stop myself, I put it down in the area I would have to avoid.

With unsure hands I grabbed it off the counter, and hit my home screen button. But when the screen illuminated, I found nothing.

Not a single missed calls. No texts…. Just a picture from two months ago of us laughing.

Better times. Happier times.

My heart clenched.

He hadn’t contacted me.

A sourness rolled over me, and then a thought.

But what if there had been an accident?

My heart hiccuped and I clutched the phone tighter.

I’d seen someone hit by a car before-.

My stomach clenched as my hands shook.

 -it hadn’t been pretty.

I couldn’t help the images that flashed in my mind of Victor crossing the ice & snow covered walkway, of a car slamming into him, of the blood that would follow, and a vileness burned the back of my tongue.

I didn’t want that. I would never want that. I would rather he just not want me anymore. My hands trembled harder and the walls of the kitchen pulled closer. Anything but Victor being hurt. Anything. Air burned my throat from how fast I was sucking it in, and with very little thought I glanced back out the window of our apartment.

The world outside  was a sheet of white with specks of black, the moon completely eclipsed in clouds and snow. Our city was swaddled in a dangerous blanket, and Victor still hadn't made it home yet. 

Stop. Stop. Stop. I tried to overpower my thoughts with a command. I tried to take back control. I could feel the panic building, cresting, ready to consume me.

I was being ridiculous. Victor had grown up in this climate. I knew he knew how to navigate in the cold, and the dangers of slick sidewalks.

I’m just being anxious. It’s only my anxiety playing with my mind.

I closed my eyes and forced another slower breath though my chest burned with the need for oxygen.

It’s only in my mind. It’s only in my mind. It’s only… But what if on his way home something had happened?

I clenched my eyes harder trying to block out the worst case scenario, to block the images again. But it was useless.

What if he was alone, out in the cold, hurting… or worse?

Before I could even think of a plan, the stiff fabric of my coat was sliding over my chest and the key to our home was firmly in hand, my phone already ringing in my ear as I locked the door and slipped on my shoes.

The only way to know was to call, but I couldn’t wait in the apartment. My heart was racing too fast, my emotions were too strong. I had to move. I had to escape. My mind was too strong.

The stairs flashed below me and without thought I sped towards the front door of our building, listening to the ringing in my ear.

I didn’t care if he never wanted to see me again. I just wanted him safe. I wanted him to pick up.  

Bracing my back against the door, I pushed it open, and darted down to the sidewalk, a vague plan forming in my head as I veered left and started running.

The ringing stopped and Victor’s automated voicemail picked-up.

My head rushed with adrenaline. Shit.

I jerked the phone down panting, scrolled through my contacts, and hit the phone icon again.

If anyone knew anything, it would be this person.


End file.
